


these scars are a metaphor for my soul

by thatiranianphantom



Category: Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, i don't want to talk about it, in which your humble writer abuses italics and run on sentences
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-16
Updated: 2020-07-14
Packaged: 2021-02-22 12:20:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 9,673
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22749538
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thatiranianphantom/pseuds/thatiranianphantom
Summary: They had three years. They could have had so many more.They should have had more.(it's a series of oneshots)
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones
Comments: 45
Kudos: 99





	1. the theory of everything

**Author's Note:**

> yeah i write for riverdale now and no i don't want to talk about it
> 
> here's a oneshot. there's at least two more coming.

Three weeks, four days, sixteen hours, and thirty-two minutes. 

Thirty-three, now, Betty corrects herself, as the old clock on Pops’ wall staggers to the 12. And tomorrow it will be three weeks and five days. After that, three weeks and six days. And on, and on, and on, endlessly, because he’s never coming back. 

Never. What a strange concept, Betty thinks. For him, who was always there.

As a child, as a preteen, as a teen, until she finally,  _ finally _ noticed him. 

They had three years. They could have had so many more. 

They  _ should  _ have had more. 

They should have gone to college together, should have solved every mystery in Connecticut and eaten lots of pizza, in their tiny apartment off campus. 

They should have graduated together, struggled to find jobs, taken shitty jobs at different agencies, come home and look over their newest murder board. 

They should have stumbled their way into their dream jobs. He would be a writer. He always wanted to be a writer. 

Betty swallows. The would-be’s continue.

They should have gotten married. Small, just their friends and family. She wonders if he would have cried when he saw her. She likes to believe he would have. They should have promised each other forever, because how could they be anything less?

Their first baby. A girl, she imagines. His unruly hair, her eyes. 

There’s moisture on her hands. She hadn’t even realized she was crying, but it seems so inconsequential now. There’s been enough tears in the past three weeks, four days, sixteen hours, and thirty-three minutes to last a lifetime. 

* * *

The last few weeks are a blur, and also startlingly, raptly clear. 

They didn’t send her to jail. The work of Mary Andrews, she thinks. She doesn’t know why. God only knows, Mrs. Andrews must be getting tired of defending teens against murder charges. 

She sees FP Jones’ face when she closes her eyes, but that’s almost a relief. He’s looking at her like she deserves to be looked at, because she didn’t kill him, but she also didn’t save him. 

She should have. But now he’s gone and she’s alone and that’s her punishment. 

Her mind is a raging fire, but he always calmed that. His arms were like a shield, staving off the dark corners of her mind, protecting her from the storm of tragedy that was dropped into her lap. The only thing that made sense in her world. 

It almost makes sense that it’s gone. 

* * *

There’s no college.

There’s no future. 

There’s only emptiness, and Riverdale.

* * *

The pink walls of the room they shared are too much for her most days, so she crashes at Veronica’s.

Her best friend looks at her with pity, tenderness and sympathy.

Betty knows she doesn’t deserve that, but it’s the only comfort she recieves nowadays. 

* * *

  
The first few days.

  
They burned the clothes. They washed the blood. 

Bret and Donna won. Betty doesn’t even have it in her to care. 

They know what happened. She doesn’t. 

The lineup happens in quick succession with the search party. They arrest her. 

Mary Andrews, her mother, they solve it. It was Charles. Charles working with Chic, who in turn is working with Donna and Bret, and Mr. DuPont. There’s a drawn out plan, but she can’t be bothered to care. Once again, everyone in her life turns on her, and she trusted Charles. 

It doesn’t matter. He’s still gone.

* * *

She sleeps in Veronica’s bed, but she can’t forever. She’s alone now. Her best friend holds her as she sobs great, heaving sobs. She cries out his name, and Veronica cries too. Betty knows her best friend well enough to know that she would do anything for the people she loves, but no amount of money can turn back the clock. 

“I just want him back. Why don’t I ever get what I want, V?” 

Veronica doesn’t even answer. There’s nothing to say.

She falls asleep in her best friend’s arms, too exhausted both physically and mentally, to hear the murmurings of Archie and Veronica outside. 

* * *

It goes on. The days blur, and then it is two weeks and six days later and she is sitting in the park with Veronica. It’s spring now. The leaves are starting to bloom. In a few months, Veronica will be going to NYU. Archie will join her soon after. And that’ll be it. 

Veronica and Archie have done all they can to cheer her, but something has changed. Betty has come back from more than most, but she just feels...broken. Like the proverbial straw that broke the camel’s back, something about her is fundamentally different.

It hurts to see Veronica and Archie together, but everything hurts nowadays, and she’s starting to think it always will. 

Everything feels fairly pointless now. She’s on trial for murder, still (she’s been assured by Mrs. Andrews that trials take time). She’s not going to college, but everyone around her is. She’s the daughter of the Black Hood, marked for life. He’s gone. 

She stirs her coffee absently. 

Veronica reaches out and lays a hand over hers.

“It’ll work out, Betty. You know Archie’s mom is the best at this.”

She nods, forcing what she can muster of a smile.    
  
“And you’re so smart. You worked so hard, I’m sure next year, when this is just a bad memory, there will be colleges knocking down your door.” 

She nods again. She’s sure they won’t, but she won’t deny her best friend that hope. 

“B..” Veronica’s voice trails off, her fingers clasping Betty’s.

“You know we love you, right?”

  
“I do. Love you too, V.” The words come out thickly, caught in her throat. 

* * *

  
  
The next day turns a corner. Betty is acquitted, the charges dismissed. Bret and Donna look furious, and that sparks something almost like joy in Betty, a feeling she hasn’t experienced in what feels like an eternity. She feels 80 years old, or like she’s lived 100 lifetimes, but mostly she just feels exhausted. 

A letter from NYU arrives the day after. They are considering her. They make it explicitly clear in the letter to not get her hopes up, but hope is such a foreign feeling, she wouldn’t know how to if she tried. 

Veronica insists on celebrating, takes her to Pops’, which, for once, is empty. Archie slides into the booth with them, a safe distance away from Veronica.

“This is all going to work out, B,” Veronica is bubbling with excitement. “I know it. In fact, I know it so much that this entire day shall be a celebration. First many, many milkshakes, then a trip down to the river. Archiekins, can you get the car?”

She is off and running. The bell above Pops’ door ringing is almost a relief to Betty, something to focus on besides her friend’s wide, shining eyes.

But if she  _ had  _ been looking at her friend’s eyes, she would have noticed them go wide with shock. She would have seen Veronica tense and Archie’s mouth fall open. She would have seen her two best friends train their gazes on the newest visitor to Pops’. 

She doesn’t, but she does hear it. 

She’d never forget it, not if she actually  _ had _ lived a million lifetimes. 

“Betty.”

It’s simple, just her name. But it’s as if it stops every system in her body. It’s as if her heart pounds to a halt. It’s as if the last six weeks never happened. 

She turns slowly, takes him in slowly, because surely this is a trick. Surely this a lie. 

He’s gone, so he can’t be here now, right?

Her eyes (which are lying,  _ have  _ to be lying) drink him in, as he steps toward her. Her feet move of their own accord, and she stands facing him. 

( _ This _

_ Is _

_ Not _

_ Real)  _

  
  


His hand touches her cheek softly, and she’s dreaming, that’s the explanation, she has to be dreaming. All her senses are lying to her, but she’s looking up into his eyes, and it feels so  _ real _ . 

Like before. 

Like nothing has ever changed.

  
  


And one strangled word forces its way out.

  
“ _ Juggie? _ ” 

  
  


He smiles, he smiles and it breaks her, and suddenly she’s sobbing and his arms are around her and they fall to the floor. 

Suddenly he’s everywhere, all around her, breathing  _ i love you _ s into her neck and stroking her hair and holding her so tight against him she feels like she can’t breathe, but that’s okay, because he steals her lips in a kiss and oxygen feels like a bygone product of the last few weeks, unimportant and pointless. 

  
  
  
  


(She finds out everything, later, but that doesn’t matter. What matters is they’re together, they are together forever, and nothing matters except that.) 

  
  


(He gives her the ring the very next day.)


	2. i still remember that girl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> was she not allowed to be sad now?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, SO.
> 
> Here's something else I don't know.
> 
> I may write a follow up to it if people are interested. 
> 
> Also important to note: the whole polly/jason baby thing did not happen in this story. 
> 
> And it seems I follow the pattern of write it all out, read it over once, and post.

_ Breathe. You can start when you are ready. - C.R.  _

It’s been seven weeks when Veronica nicely suggests Betty come over with Cheryl and Toni for a sleepover.

It’s an odd request, to be sure, because Betty’s been regularly sleeping at Veronica’s since it happened. Formalizing a sleepover just feels a bit redundant, but she agrees anyway.

Also, perhaps it’s a bit of an overstatement to say she’s been  _ sleeping _ at Veronica’s. Technically, she has, and her best friend has been nothing if not wonderful and completely supportive, but most nights, Betty doesn’t sleep over so much as fall asleep for brief periods of time and wake up screaming. Veronica is going through concealer at a much more rapid rate with all the times she’s had to soothe Betty back to sleep in the middle of the night.

It’s a very stressful time. 

Betty just thinks that’s important to keep in mind. 

It’s been seven weeks since it happened, and she’s basically moved into Veronica’s bed. Archie looks at her with pity in his eyes and acquiesced. 

She can’t sleep alone anymore. 

She’s not moodier than usual, per se, but she doesn’t have a lot of cause to be “happy” these days. Not with Yale rejecting her, her father robbing her of the future she had fought so hard for. Not with Charles disappearing on her, and her mother and F.P. generally being too distracted to bother much with what was going on with her. 

And certainly not with Jughead. 

It feels patently insane to not know if your boyfriend of three years is alive or dead, but she doesn’t. She knows only that he’s gone. She checks her phone every minute, hoping to hear from him. She has asked everyone she knows and then some if they know what happened but...one minute he was here, the next, gone. 

Gone, and the world tilts on its axis.

It’s like ripping a bandaid off a fresh wound. It seems insane but Betty never realized what a stabilizing force Jughead was until he was gone. For everything they had gone through - Polly, the Blossoms, FP’s trial, the Black Hood, Gryphons and Gargoyles, Jughead had been there, her safe shelter. Jughead was warm arms, soft “I love you”s, her partner in all things. 

And without him, no part of Betty feels right. 

She vomits up her lunch. Her entire body aches. Her soul cries out. Her tears are met with nothing.

And Veronica tries, she really tries, but she’s not him.

Which is particularly jarring, because likely, he’ll never be there again. She’ll spend the next few months screaming herself awake in Veronica’s bed until her friend goes to college, and then, there will be nothing.

All of which brings us back to the sleepover.

Perfunctorily, she lets her mother know. She’s 17 and has felt like an adult for years, so it feels a bit redundant, but the last person left is her mother, so she lets Alice know she’ll be sleeping (again) at Veronica’s. 

Her friends have an odd look in their eyes when she shows up, but they order her favorite pizza, and Betty eats none of it. 

The taste is off, but as she already knows, everything is off nowadays.

She eats a few bites to appease V, but doesn’t miss the worried look on her best friend’s face. 

She also doesn’t miss the movie she wasn’t really watching be shut off, and her friends turning to face her. 

Veronica’s arm slips around her. “B, we needed to talk to you.”

She’s genuinely confused, because what is there left to say? “Talk to me about what?”

Toni scoots a little closer. “We’re worried about you. And not just because of...all that’s happened. You seem...off.”

Okay. Even more confusing. “Off?”   
  


“You don’t eat, you don’t sleep, you’re in pain, you look like season 6 recently-resurrected Buffy…”

“Thanks for sugarcoating it, Cheryl.”

Veronica bites her lip. “B...have you gotten your period lately?”   
  


“Have I...what could that possibly have to do with anything?”

Cheryl and Toni share a significant look, and then Toni pulls a paper bag out of her overnight bag and hands it to Betty. 

  
  


And here’s the thing, she’s  _ fine.  _ Or, really, as good as can be expected for losing the person she loves most and having her future stolen from her. Betty moves on. It’s a Cooper trait. She likes to think she’s dealing.

So, as she pulls a box out of the paper bag, her face burns with irritation, because if anyone should know how hard she’s been trying, despite all the crap of the last few months, it would be…

_ Oh _ . 

The box reads, in huge black letters, as if it were mocking her,  _ EPT Home Pregnancy Test. _

All three girls look at Betty with expectant looks on their faces, like they are waiting for her reaction. 

Which,  _ no. _ Because there’s no way. Absolutely no way she’s….and anyway, she’s on birth control. They had always been safe. At least, when they remembered to be. Which was most of the time. Nigh on almost all of the time. And even when they weren’t, Betty was on birth control pills. And even in the chaos of the last few months, she had remembered to take them, right?

Yes, there was no way. They were just fishing, looking for an explanation. The irritation burns deeper. She was  _ sad _ , why couldn’t they understand that? If the love of their life had been taken away from them, would she be accusing them of being pregnant?

“ _ How could you _ ?” She hisses.

“B, we’re just worried…” Veronica starts, but Betty isn’t listening. 

“Am I not allowed to be sad now? Is the person I love being ripped away from me starting to inconvenience all of you? Does having an actual future blind you to the fact that I’m just trying to figure out all the crap that’s been dumped on me, so you need to go look for more fucked-up explanation?”

Toni tries to lay a hand on Betty’s arm, but Betty yanks it away. 

Shapes blur around her, and Betty needs to leave, needs to get out of here, because this, it’s too much. 

Cheryl’s voice cuts through the blur and stops her in her tracks. 

“You haven’t had your period yet, cousin. You throw up constantly, you yourself told us your boobs hurt, you don’t eat something you used to devour, and it’s not like you and hobo were chaste before...all this. Is it really so crazy?”

It’s the truth, and it tips the scales. 

Tears prick her eyes, and Betty runs. 

Still in her pyjamas, Betty tears out of the Pembrooke and runs. 

She’s not sure where she’s going, but some primal part of her must be, because she does recognize the bathroom at Pops’ eventually. 

Sliding down against the wall, Betty heaves out sobs, great sobs that form the shape of a name. 

“ _ Jug, Juggie. Oh no, oh  _ please _ , Juggie…” _

And sometime after, when she’s curled up against the floor of a diner bathroom, having dried out all her tears, is when she realizes she’s still holding the pregnancy test. 

She’s not even sure what happens next, but suddenly, her bladder is empty and Betty Cooper, perfect daughter extraordinaire, is seventeen years old, alone, with her back against a filthy bathroom wall, and a pregnancy test in hand that she can’t bring herself to look at.

Because  _ maybe _ . 

_ Maybe _ it was positive, and then what? 

She takes note of the footsteps that race toward the bathroom, then of Veronica’s arm as it wraps tightly around her, then of Toni and Cheryl’s hands on her arm, of the whispered words “We’re here for you, B, no matter what,” and then, finally, of the two pink lines on the test. 

_ I miss you all dearly, so keep up your chin _

_ Until the day comes we’re together again _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> everything is tragedy, my dudes.


	3. i come to you in pieces

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hoo boy
> 
> as it turns out this is a three parter
> 
> i want to talk about it now folks, because apparently disappointment in this catastrophe of a storyline makes me write furiously until 1am where its like "you get up at 6am you have work tomorrow you should probably get some sleep bro"
> 
> also, the whole Polly pregnancy thing didn't happen because like there's only so much teen pregnancy you can squeeze into one family

_ I got problems, and i’ll be the first to call them out  _

They leave the floor, eventually. Betty’s not sure how. She is sure, though, that those five stages of grief on the pamphlet her mother surreptitiously left in her room may not be complete bullshit, because the same little stick that stole her breath is now making it come in frantic bursts.

“I can’t,” she gasps. “I’m not, it’s not...it’s not true, I’m not...V, we didn’t...oh holy shit, holy  _ shit _ .” 

_ Denial _ . 

It feels appropriate. She can’t be pregnant, can she? Sure, she may have imagined having kids with him, one day. But not when she was seventeen. And not when he was gone, or maybepossiblydead. 

Not like this,  _ never  _ like this. 

No, this was bullshit. No part of this was how it was supposed to be, no part of this was right. Betty claws at the test in her hands, hurls it against the wall, where it makes a sound far too quiet to satisfy her.

_ Anger _ . 

“This is crap!” Veronica only wraps an arm tighter around her, because what is there to say? 

Cheryl hands her a piece of toilet paper as a tissue, and Betty hadn’t even noticed the tears.

Hands stroke up and down her arms and legs, but Betty feels completely foreign in her own body, now that it’s being inhabited by two.

“He was supposed to be here for this. If this ever happened, he was...he was supposed to be here.”

Betty chokes out a sob. “I wasn’t supposed to be alone.”

_ Depression.  _

Veronica tightens her grip around Betty again, and she feels her hands being grabbed by Cheryl and Toni, respectively. 

“Cousin,” Cheryl breathes. “I know this isn’t what you envisioned this looking like, but get one thing straight - you are never,  _ ever _ alone.”

* * *

  
  


When she moves in with Veronica, she collects the box of his things from her closet.

She’s thoroughly sick of crying (though now can conveniently blame it on hormones) but when she sees the pictures of them together, the tears start anew. Veronica is out for the day, so Archie holds her, and it’s as if her tear ducts are trying to make up for several fairly traumatic, but tearless, years. 

The picture of them at homecoming together feels like a lifetime ago. They had just barely started dating, and god knows that night didn’t end well, but it’s one of the few pictures they have together, and to know Jughead kept it triggers a fresh wave of tears. 

She misses him so viscerally, it’s as if her soul has been split in half. She feels adrift, lost at sea. 

_ Unmoored, _ he had once said. Unmoored, pregnant, futureless and alone. 

What more could the world expect from the daughter of a serial killer? 

  
  


* * *

  
  


The preppies are at Pops. She would have barely noticed, so lost in her own thoughts, but she could never (wishes she could but will  _ never _ ) mistake Donna’s voice. 

What feels like years ago, she’d thought them so benign. But then they’d ripped Jughead away from her. Maybe killed him, who knows?

They had maybe killed him, and gotten away with it, and she, Betty Cooper, who he had counted on to find him, had simply sat there and let them get away with it. 

They drained the fight out of her. 

So much so, that she, Betty Cooper, the daughter of the Black Hood, is sitting here, in Pops, just vaguely listening to them. 

It hits her like a bolt of lightning, perhaps because she is passing her fingers over her belly, as she so often catches herself doing nowadays. 

They let her just  _ sit  _ here while there was a  _ chance _ . 

There was a chance he was still alive. 

They had solved so many mysteries together, had never given up, even in the face of everyone telling them it was hopeless. 

And yet when the person she loves most in the world is torn away, without a word, she just  _ stops _ ?

No, that’s not Betty Cooper. 

They may have beaten her once. 

But no more. 

No, now there was a reason to fight. 

(She feels a flutter from inside her, like the wings of a butterfly, and gasps, hands flying to clasp her belly. 

It’s the baby,  _ their  _ baby. 

Yes, Betty knows. She’s not alone.) 

* * *

  
  


She’s still a detective. Those instincts don’t go away. Betty’s mildly surprised, but thrilled to learn this. She recognizes so little of herself these days. It’s not the same, nothing will  _ ever _ be the same. She is no longer one of a set, no longer Nancy Drew and Joe Hardy, off to solve another mystery. Then again, perhaps she  _ is  _ still part of a set, but a...different set. It’s almost a comforting thought, she thinks, smoothing a hand over her belly. 

Being a detective is familiar to her. Being a pregnant detective, well...that’s a hell of a classifier to add on.

Betty knows she has options. She has known that from the beginning.

And maybe it’s stupid, maybe it’s denial, but abortion was something that she just...couldn’t. She was alone now, accompanied but alone, but the flutters in her belly are oddly comforting. 

The constant vomiting, less so. The aversion to food of any kind, not convenient. 

Betty knows she should see a doctor, she knows this is something that needs to be brought to the attention of her mother, but for now, it feels kind of nice to have this little secret. 

She’s taken to talking to the baby, as if it could understand. As it turns out, the baby fights none of her craziest theories. 

They’re like their father that way. 

* * *

  
  


She speaks to everyone she can possibly think of. 

She plants bugs, she pumps sources for information, she pays off hospitals and morgues to keep her updated of any new arrivals. 

She goes hard for a week, and just...nothing.

He has vanished into thin air, and she needs him, she  _ needs _ him.

Her ponytail sinks lower and lower, and she thinks it a fairly appropriate metaphor for her level of hope.

* * *

  
  


Betty Cooper gets her money from her allowance, and it’s paltry at best. 

The Stonies don’t have that issue, which she finds out when Donna flops into the seat across from her and produces a rattle out of her pocket, with an evil grin on her face. 

“I hear congratulations are in order, Ponytail,” she grins. “Little Forsythe the fourth is on the way!” 

Her heart drops to her stomach. “How did you…”

Donna grins. “Apparently, pregnancy tests taken in bathrooms of restaurants you frequent are not easy to keep under wraps. Also, wages here must be crap because those busboys sing like canaries with the  _ slightest _ provocation.” 

Betty’s hand moves of its own volition to cradle her belly, something Donna doesn’t fail to notice. 

“Too bad there’s no dad in the picture. Although that  _ does _ fit with your family, doesn’t it?”

“There  _ is. _ ” Betty’s grateful the wobble in her voice is not audible. “He’s out there, Donna. I don’t care what you did or where you’re hiding him, I’m going to find him.”

“And what? Best case scenario, he’s alive, you find him, and you both live unhappily ever after, still in Riverdale, stuck together with no college and no future, hating each other. But good news, Ponytail. That ain’t gonna happen. Know why?”

Donna leans close. “Because he’s  _ dead _ . Dead by your own hand, and I don’t care what the judge says, it’s only a matter of time until they figure it out, and then little mommy goes to jail. You know what happens to kids with mothers in jail? They get put into foster care. And as it turns out, there’s really nobody you can’t pay off, to make things...interesting for a foster kid.” 

Betty is out of her seat before she really recognizes what’s happening, fingers curling around Jughead’s serpent knife in her pocket. The knife pops open smoothly, and then it is at Donna’s throat. 

This time, there is no hesitation in her voice. “Don’t you dare threaten my baby, bitch, or you won’t like what happens next.”

Donna is frozen for a moment, while Betty incrementally lowers the knife. 

But then the smug smile returns as she slides out of the booth, plucking the cherry on top of Betty’s milkshake and popping it into her mouth. 

“Think about it, honey. There’s about a million ways this ends badly for you, but no way for this to end in anything but complete satisfaction for me.”

* * *

  
  


The Stonies keep frequenting the restaurant. 

Two weeks have passed since she found out about the pregnancy. She estimates she’s at around ten weeks, and the sickness is starting to abate. She still doesn’t  _ look _ pregnant, at least she thinks, and she’s not sure whether that’s a good or bad thing. 

She has no doubt Donna has told all the preppies about the baby, so there’s another person to protect now, and she will. Whatever happens to this baby, it will be protected. It’s a very unique feeling, one Betty hesitates to dive into, but this, at least for now, is  _ her baby _ . Her tiny baby that relies on Betty for protection, a baby made out of love. A baby who’s loved. 

Betty lies in bed at night, her hands clasping her belly, and tells the baby about their father, because they deserve to know. They deserve to know him as a good man who loved his family, and her. Her hands press into her belly, as if trying to transfer Jughead’s love to the baby too.

And if that is the closest this baby comes to Jughead, it will have to do. She will make it be enough. 

* * *

It seems to be the closest Betty can get to him as well, because there are no more sources, no more leads, and life feels hopeless again. 

And so, in the same place she found out she was pregnant, in the same place her child was threatened, in the same place she had seen the Stonies, Pops Chocklit Shoppe itself, she supposes nothing else can surprise her, but as it turns out, she is wrong again. 

She is wrong, because Bret Weston Wallis slides in across from her, and for once, his exceptionally punchable face is not smug. In fact, it’s almost..contrite.

She doesn’t count herself as listening too closely to the last Stonies conversation she heard in Pops, but she should have. 

She should have, because in addition to Donna’s voice, she would have heard Bret’s. And she would have seen his face, seen the expression that could only be called foreign. 

He would have looked hesitant. Maybe even a bit...scared. 

_ “This is serious stuff, guys. What we did to Forsythe...and now Ponytail.” _

_ Donna scoffs, her face free and clear of all reservations.  _

_ “You chickening out, Wallis?”  _

_ “It’s not just him, Donna! We’re...we’re messing with a pregnant girl now. Shouldn’t that at least give pause?” _

It certainly seems to have given Bret pause, because he’s here, greeting her with a soft “Hey, Ponytail.”

Her hand comes around her middle protectively, and she slides to leave the seat. The feeling of his hand grabbing for hers is like poison, like something is burning her.

“ _ Don’t ever fucking touch me _ ,” she rasps. 

“Betty,” he implores, flipping his hand to lie on the table, and she realizes she has never heard him call her by her name.

“I heard about,” he indicates her midsection. “Please let me explain. I’m not here to hurt..”

“I don’t care what you’re here to do, Bret. I don’t care a bit about one word you say.”

“I’m not here to threaten you, I’m not even here to upset you…”

“ _ Upset me _ ?” The words seem profoundly insane. He is the  _ reason _ Jughead is gone.

“You took him from me,” her voice warbles. “You, who have never and will never feel, in your sad lifetime, a  _ fraction _ of what we felt for each other. You  _ ripped  _ him from me. And I need him so much, especially...especially now. If it wouldn’t burn down what was left of my life, I would kill you where you stand.”

He looks ashamed. She almost doesn’t recognize it.

“So what,” she spits, “could you possibly be here for?”

“Because I’m going to help you.”

Is spotty hearing a pregnancy symptom? Betty thinks it must be, because there is no way Bret Weston Wallis, head Stonewall Preppie, just offered to help her. 

“And why the hell would you do that? And why the hell would I trust you?”

He traces a groove in the table with his index finger. “You wouldn’t. I know that. I don’t expect trust from you. I just...wanted you to know that not everyone is as comfortable with this as Donna.” 

She sinks back in the booth, as far away as she can get. “You seemed pretty comfortable when you were arranging his murder!”

“It was Donna’s idea!”

“And she held a gun to your head and forced you to participate?”

He huffs out a breath. “No. She didn’t.” 

He is silent for a moment. “That’s why when we get caught, and we  _ will _ , I know I’ll go to jail too. But at least I can bring some reparation to the destruction before I do.” 

When he looks up again, his eyes are filled with tears, and she actually did not think Bret Weston Wallis even possessed tear ducts. 

“I don’t expect you to help me, or even trust me, Betty. But I can’t do this anymore. I can’t do this to a pregnant girl, and I can’t keep playing this game. So come tomorrow, to Fox Forest. Same place it happened at 4am. They change shifts then. It’ll be unguarded for at least an hour. Bring your pals if you need to, or whatever weaponry you feel safe with. But this is our only chance, so I hope you can stomach your hatred for long enough to make this happen.”

And then he’s gone, long legs making fast strides towards the door.

“And you’re right, by the way.” It’s said as he turns to exit, almost as if he didn’t want to hear her say it. 

“Right about what?”

He smiles, and it’s a sad smile. “When you said that I have never and will never feel what you and Forsythe feel, you’re right. Once upon a time, I thought I did. But I took the wrong path. What you guys have, it’s special. I don’t want that to be thrown away.”

  
  


_ Wait for me, i’m coming, i’m coming too  _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> it's kind of antithetical, but i do not want pregnancy or marriage to happen on the show, at least not yet. They're still only 18 they got time
> 
> Also if you also want to talk about it, come visit me at thatiranianphantom dot tumblr dot com. 
> 
> lyrics from hadestown and anthony ramos.
> 
> also i'm adding pregnancy to the things i've taken creative liberties with because i'm p sure you can't feel the baby at 9 weeks but whatever


	4. requiem

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She does understand that Bret has been off since she met him. And now she’s meeting him in the middle of the night, unaccompanied, in the middle of the woods. 
> 
> Perhaps, she concedes, she is a bit nuts. 
> 
> But she’s going.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know what to say except it's midnight and this chapter got away from me.

_ I will sing no requiem tonight _

She’s going.

She knows this, sure as she knows anything. Because there’s a chance, and if there is any,  _ any _ small chance that he’s alive, that she can find him, Betty will take it. 

She tells only four people. Veronica, Archie, Cheryl and Toni. All four advise her not to go, that it’s too dangerous, especially  _ now _ , but she persists. 

They insist on coming with her. She initially refuses, but their concern is so genuine, so caring, that she relents. Cheryl and Toni will be allowed to hide around the area, waiting with their bows and quivers if things go south. Archie will drop her off and then leave her, Veronica will collect her (them?). 

But the actual act, whatever it may be, Betty will be going alone.

(she’s not alone, not really, she thinks as she rubs her belly.) 

* * *

She believes Bret, believes him when he says he wants to help. Betty’s not actually sure why, God knows she shouldn’t. But the look on his face was, by her best estimation, completely genuine. 

She believes him, but she is completely baffled on the  _ why _ of the situation. There is so little about their current predicament that she understands, but she does understand that Bret Weston Wallis almost certainly had a hand in the disappearance or maybe death of the person she loves most in the world. 

And she does understand that Bret has been off since she met him. And now she’s meeting him in the middle of the night, unaccompanied, in the middle of the woods. 

Perhaps, she concedes, she is a  _ bit _ nuts. 

But she’s going.

_ There’s a chance. There’s a chance there’s a chance there’s a chance.  _

For one brief, beautiful moment, she allows herself hope, something she hasn’t had in what feels like years. He could come back. She’d tell him about the baby, and yes, he’d be scared, but they’d handle it together. They’d listen to the heartbeat, and she’d brush away the tears in his eyes. He’d talk to the baby, read it Melville, Austin, Hemingway, and she’d tease him that he was boring the baby to sleep. He’d be there when the baby was born, he’d cry, they’d both cry, and they’d lie, all tightly packed in one bed, their own little family, so  _ happy _ . 

They’d get married, and she would hold their baby as they said their vows. They would go to college, it may look a little different but they would. Jughead would sell his first book, an overnight success, because how could it not be? She’d go into investigative journalism, be at the top of her field. And they’d grow old together, would die in each other’s arms, surrounded by children and grandchildren and great grandchildren. 

Her eyes well at the barrage of images. He could come back and then they would be together, forever. She’s sure it will be forever. 

* * *

Maybe those thoughts, paired with the anticipation makes her a little stupid, because she tells her mother.

She’s not looking for approval. She left that Betty Cooper behind what feels like ages ago. She’s almost 18, and will be when the baby is born. She’ll be an adult, and even if she wasn’t, Betty feels full decades older than she is. 

She can handle this. She has support. Veronica even offered to let her move into the no doubt lavish apartment she will rent while in college. Cheryl offered something similar. She is loathe to take their charity, but if it means getting out of Riverdale, taking her baby somewhere where they would both be safe, she will. 

She vowed to protect this little life, and she will. From everything, including her mother.

Realistically, she didn’t expect her mother to take it  _ well _ , but as with most other things, Alice Cooper did not disappoint. 

There’s shouting, cursing, a veritable armada of “ _ how could you do this, Elizabeth”s.  _ FP, tears in his eyes, tries to calm her, tries to talk her down, but it is no good. Betty stands and lets her mother call her foolish, tell her she’s ruining her life, tell her that Betty had promised, _ promised _ she was being safe, but that was a lie, wasn’t it? 

The only time Alice looked at all relieved during their conversation was when Betty noted she was only ten weeks along, therefore still in her first trimester. 

“There’s still time, then,” her mother had sighed. “I’ll make the appointment for tomorrow.” 

“No.” It’s stated plainly. No room for argument. 

It sets off another round of yelling, eventually culminating in a  _ get out of this house _ , and Betty is all too happy to. FP tries again, but Betty puts a hand up and he falls silent. It’s useless, she knows, but she’s oddly at peace with it. 

She remembers once hearing that the family you were born into is only a starting point, and that rings true with her. She still vividly remembers the fight she had with Polly ten months ago, where she realized her sister may have a bit too much of their mother in her. Polly had looked at Jughead with scorn, she had felt it. It’s a testament to how used to being regarded this way Jughead must have been that he didn’t let it affect him, but it affected Betty. The confrontation that followed was intense, and they hadn’t spoken since. Betty always held a spark of hope for a reconcilation, because Polly is her sister, and Betty loves her, but she also loves Jughead, and hearing him called “trailer trash” was something not easy to forgive. 

So maybe her family was always meant to fracture, maybe it was their fate. She ponders on this as she gathers a few belongings, and goes to meet Veronica, to prepare for tonight. 

* * *

Archie asks her no less than six times if she’s sure. By the fourth, she’s ignoring him.

Jug would have asked, sure. But he would have known that she is Betty Cooper, teen detective. 

_ Like Nancy Drew meets The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo,  _ he had once said, and when someone she loves is on the line, she does not, will not hesitate. 

Yes, she’s sure. And she’s going. 

* * *

Archie leaves her with extreme reluctance and she spots Bret almost immediately, looking around nervously. 

He looks at her as she walks to him, and his eyes flash with something she can’t quite identify, something that’s gone just as quickly as it came. 

“Ponytail. You came.” There’s a note of surprise in his voice.

“I came, Bret. I hope it’s worth it, because for the record, I trust you about as far as I can throw you.” 

He shakes his head. “You don’t have to trust me. But you do have to come with me.”

“Not until you tell me what’s going on. I have questions, Wallis, and I am not taking another step with you until I get answers.”

He whips his head around, eyes shining with fear. “We don’t have  _ time _ to play 20 questions, Betty. We’re already working on borrowed time.” 

“Borrow a little more, Bret. Ten questions.”

He scans the clearing, still with fear in his eyes. “Three questions.”

“Seven.”

“Five.” 

“Fine. Five questions, and you have to answer honestly. For once in your life, the complete truth.”

He gives a short nod, and she counts it as a win. 

“The whole truth, but you only get one right now. They’re changing shifts now. Ask me quickly before we get caught.” 

The question is already on the tip of her tongue, she doesn’t even need to think about it. 

“Why? Why did you all do this?”

He gives a rueful bark of laughter, scratching the back of his neck. “Shit, Betty, I don’t even think we know that. Probably a combination of reasons. Tradition, boredom, some personal vendettas. Privilege. Make the kid from the trailer park realize he’s not as special as this school likes to pretend, even if he is, and fuck the collateral damage.” 

It’s crude and honest, disappointingly simple, and while it doesn’t exactly satisfy her, it does help, in some twisted way. She mulls it over, and the words stick out to her just as she hears twigs snapping under someone’s feet. 

“Personal vendettas? Whose personal vendettas specifically, Bret?”

His head whips around and he shoves her to the left. “No time right now, Ponytail. Get behind that bank of trees. I’ll signal you when it’s clear.” 

She does as she’s told for once, and through a crack in the trees, she sees Bret casually greet Joan, and she is profoundly aware that she could be given away so easily, that she could be walking into a trap, but she remains, keens in to listen. 

“All good?” She hears him whisper.

“Unmoving like always.” Joan laughs, and Betty’s stomach drops. Suddenly, iIt hits her like a thunderbolt that she is genuinely not sure if she is going to find Jughead alive or dead. 

And for all of the grieving, him being really, actually dead steals her breath. 

She’s pulled out of her thoughts at Bret’s signal, and he points at a bank of rocks. 

“Behind there, left and down, Ponytail. Follow me.”

She follows him. She’s not used to following his orders, but her head is already spinning. She casts an eye toward the trees, looking for Cheryl and Toni, but sees nothing. 

There’s a staircase at the bottom of the stairs, Bret trips down it. At the bottom, there’s a small cave, and he tucks his tall form around the corner. There’s a tiny piece of paper tacked against the wall, a schedule of sorts.

Bret’s name is featured, as is Joan’s and Jonathan’s. At the top, there is a D and C, both underlined in red, and it occurs to her, looking at the letters, that she hasn’t seen Donna in this whole time. 

“Bret,” she hisses. “Where is Donna?”

A shadow falls across Bret’s face, and he gulps. “We are flying under her radar. And if you want my help, Ponytail, that’s the way it’s going to stay. If she finds out…” he trails off but Betty gets the implication. 

And really, any follow up is lost at the sight of a rumpled form in the corner. Betty doesn’t,  _ can’t  _ stop herself from rushing over, because she knows that form. 

“Juggie,” she breathes, running a hand through his hair and down onto his cheek as tears spill unbidden, because he’s here, and real, and she loves him so much.

But when she gets to his cheek, she notes how cold it is, how still he is, how pale his skin is. And beside him, a detail that seems throughly unimportant, but in reality, and especially when coupled with the sound of approaching footsteps, means everything.

It’s a second copy of the schedule. And beside the D is the words Mar18 4-8a.

March 18th, 4-8am. Here. Now. Footsteps.

And then Bret’s voice. “Fuck, shit, oh god no…”

And then suddenly Jughead’s still form is being dumped on her and they’re both being thrusted forward, out of the cave and into the night, and she hears Donna’s screeches and Bret is trying to help carry him but they can’t run fast enough.

“ _ Go, _ Betty, go!” Bret yells. He and Betty pull the limp form around a corner where Donna can’t see them, but Betty can hear her frantic footsteps, and hear her calling Bret’s name. 

Ever so quietly, they all sit against a tree, and Betty’s heart drops when she hears the sound of a gun being cocked. 

“Ponytail. You gotta go. You gotta take him and go. I’ll handle Donna.” 

“But…”

  
“ _ No.  _ They have eyes on everything, Ponytail, and Chas will be monitoring the hospitals so don’t even think about that. Just go, take him far away and hope it’s not too late.”

“Chas?”

“Third question. “

Bret leans closer, whispers in her ear. “You think me and Donna are running the show, you’d be wrong. I’m the middle man, at  _ best _ . I always was. But Chas and Donna, they masterminded this whole thing. I was just the muscle of it. And I went along with it, but this is the only chance you have to set this right, so  _ go _ , Betty, and don’t look back. I have Donna covered.”

“ _ Why _ are you going against her,” Betty insists, resting Jug’s still (so very still) body against the tree and standing so she’s pressed right against him, can feel his heartbeat thumping.

She really should have seen it coming when he cups her face with one hand and leans in.

Realistically, it probably lasts less than three seconds, and approximately all of those seconds were due to pure shock. 

She yanks back as if she’s been burned, and his expression is all heartbreak, but all he says is “Four.” 

And then her love’s prone body is being draped on her and he’s running out and gone. 

  
  


* * *

  
  


She drags Jughead through the forest and studiously does not check to see if he’s breathing at all, until she reaches a clearing. He’s heavy, too heavy, and she can’t run with him. Her breath comes in gasps again, and right before her vision gets spotty, she hears two thumps beside her, and he is lifted off of her. 

“Come, cousin,” she has never felt more eternally grateful for Cheryl Blossom’s voice. “Let’s get him out of here.” 

Veronica meets them at the road and they hoist Jughead into the car, but not before Cheryl groans “For heaven’s sake, hobo, maybe lay off the burgers.” 

She yanks him against her as they get in the car, and promptly bursts into tears at the incremental rise and fall of his rib cage. 

He’s alive.

_ He’s alive he’s alive he’s alive. _

Inside her belly, the baby flutters, as if dancing with joy.

* * *

  
  


Heeding Bret’s warning, they go to the Pembroke. Veronica orders Smithers to bring all the medical supplies he can muster, and they strip him out of his clothes.

A soft gasp escape as she looks at him, because for all Cheryl’s complaining, he is skeletal. It is almost as if she can reach right through him to the bed below. His breathing is barely there, but he shivers, so he’s alive. And it is there that the realization hits. Chas. Bret had said the other mastermind’s name was Chas. And Betty knew someone who had come into her life at around the same time this whole thing started, who could also bear that name.

_ Charles _ . 

She waits for the heartbreak, for the disappointment, but it is muted when it does arrive, barely there. 

He’s part of the family she left behind.

He will go down for daring to try and take her real family away. 

* * *

She is laying against him still a full day later. They have given him whatever treatment they can, dropped water into his parched lips, and covered him and Betty with blankets. His breathing is stronger, but still he doesn’t wake up.

  
  


Betty strokes his hair gently and lays his arm around her. She’s dreamed of this the last eight weeks, and it’s real but not complete. He’s here but he’s not  _ here _ and she needs him.

“Come back to us, Juggie,” she breathes into his neck. “Please, please come back.” 

* * *

  
  


She wakes, and the blue eyes slowly blinking at her are the first thing she recognizes. Then it’s the thin hand stroking her cheek. Then that voice, the voice she thought had been blown from the world. 

“ _ Betts. _ ” 

And then her arms are around him, and there are tears. She’s not sure if they’re hers or his, but it doesn’t matter, it’s both of them, they are one. 

And it’s all  _ i love yous _ and  _ i missed you _ s and  _ god, Betts I love you forever _ . 

* * *

  
  


He goes through the last eight weeks, little by little. It exhausts him, and he sleeps more. He sleeps heavily, and when the footsteps hesitantly pad up to the bed, she hardly notices until a throat clears. 

“Hey, Ponytail.” the words are soft. 

Her gaze flies up. “Bret. Oh holy crap, you’re alive!”    
  
“Yeah,” he huffs out a laugh. “Seems that way.” 

Betty searches, but can find little to say. “Bret, I wanted to…” 

“Don’t. Just don’t, Betty. God knows I don’t deserve it.” 

She falls silent for a moment. “What are you going to do now?” 

He sighs. “I have somewhere I need to be. Someone has to get this process started. Me being first, they may cut a deal.” 

She nods. “You did the right thing, Bret.” 

“Yeah,” he brushes his hand through his hair. “Well, I was due to start sometime.” 

They fall into silence again, long enough that Bret turns to leave.

The thought occurs to her as he’s almost at the door. 

“Bret,” she calls, and he stops. “ _ Why? _ ” 

He pauses, meanders back to the bed, presses in so close that his knees indent the mattress. Slowly, he traces a hand down Jughead’s face, taking in all the bruising, with a look in his eyes Betty has only seen once before, right before he kissed her. Like he is trying to memorize Jug’s face. His hand slips down to Jug’s hand and he gives it a brief squeeze before turning the same expression on her. 

“You want what you can never have, Elizabeth. Sometimes, the small moments are all you get. Sometimes you lose. And maybe it’s time to start on a new path.”

He gives her a long look, eyes searching hers. 

“Take care of yourself, Cooper. Take care of that baby.” His voice drops low, and she catches a hint of tears. 

“Be happy, okay?”

And then he is gone.

* * *

  
  


Jughead improves, ever so slowly. Much too slowly for his liking. One day, he sits up. A few days later, he makes it out of bed. A day after, he finally banishes her for a day with Toni and Cheryl. 

“Just the day, Cooper. I gotta be honest, Archie helping me to the bathroom is not something I want you to witness. We gotta keep some of the mystery alive.”

It’s a tense day, to be sure. She is not happy being separated from him given the last few weeks, but it’s what he wants, so she makes do, until the clock finally reads 8pm, and she can stay away no longer. 

To say she’s shocked when she enters is perhaps an understatment, because the room is suddenly clean, and filled with candles, a dining table (when did that get there?) and music playing softly in the background. 

“Jug…” she whispers. 

He pulls her into his lap with a soft smile. “We missed our anniversary, so...happy anniversary, Betts.” 

Apparently her tear ducts have restocked, because she’s crying again, and more so when he laboriously stands and holds out a hand. 

  
“Dance with me, Betts.” 

She folds herself into his arms, and she’s still not certain this is real, it feels too dreamlike to exist. 

Jughead’s arms slide around her waist and she lays her head on this should, allowing herself a moment to bask. To bask in this moment, this place, this beautiful man who she will spend forever with, she’s sure of it. 

There’s nothing more standing in their way.

And if the future is open before them, then she has something else she needs to say. 

Lifting her head slightly, she cups his face in her hands. 

“Juggie,” she breathes. “Juggie, I need to tell you something.” 

She smooths the worried wrinkle from his forehead with the pad of her thumb, and lifts his left hand to rest on her abdomen.

It takes a moment, but when it hits him, his eyes drop to her belly. He brings his other hand to her abdomen and his fingers splay out. 

When he looks at her, his eyes shine with tears. 

“ _ Betty _ ,” he gasps. “Is that…”

  
She nods, not trusting her voice.

“It’s us, Juggie. It’s you and me.” Her voice warbles, somehow unsure as the word tumbles from her lips. “Forever?” 

His face lights in a radiant smile, and he rests his forehead on hers. 

“Forever, Betts. Forever.”

_ all we see is light for forever _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Look, there are a few unchangeable facts in our universe. The sun rises in the east, guacamole is disgusting, and Bret writes self-insertion fanfiction for Bughead. Bret is a freewheeling bisexual who is in love with both Betty and Jughead. I don’t make the rules. It’s just a simple fact everyone knows. 
> 
> Also here are the bullet points I wrote off of for this monster chapter:
> 
> \- Bret leads her to the woods  
> \- Donna hears of it  
> \- Bret tells betty to run, someone will meet her and she’ll know where it is  
> \- Bret’s alive but has called the police on both him and Donna  
> \- Reunion fun times  
> \- Pregnancy reveal how nifty  
> \- Jughead is alive obvi but WHERE THE TACO IS HE
> 
> Clearly I am a grown adult with a house, a car, a job and a firm grip on my sanity.
> 
> Anyway, should you want to talk, find me on tumblr at thatiranianphantom dot tumblr dot com.


	5. marry you

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Bughead get a few...comments, on how very married they are acting.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean...I guess this goes here? This is a series of oneshots, after all. So yeah, here? 
> 
> This one was fun! Short but enjoyable and I got to look up a lot of hilarious tweets from married people, as well as pull from a few shows.

They never realized it, until people around them started pointing it out. It seemed a little ridiculous at first.

To be fair, they realized their situation was far from typical. They were eighteen, not yet in college, living at home with their parents, who were also dating. Not normal. But they were young, still in high school.

So, yes, their friend’s whispers did seem odd.

Theirs was a happy relationship, one they had been in for many years. They struggled to remember what life was like outside their relationship, and it became the target of no small amount of mockery from their friends.

They were in sync, and they always had been. But while the romantic drama of their friends swirled around them, they kept a very even keel. It was normal. Stretching themselves, they would even call it something their friends could aspire to.

Their friends, however, called it something different. They mumbled under their breath, and Betty and Jughead only caught snatches of words like “married” and “boring.”

And by comparison to the things their relationship had been tested through, perhaps their friend’s issues did seem a little boring. So when Reggie would come to them and complain that the girl he’d known for all of ten days hadn’t texted him back in an hour, or when Veronica complained that Archie wasn’t picking up on the “very obvious” clues she had left him when she was sick ( _ I told him chicken soup would make me feel better. He said it probably would, and then he went to practice!)  _ it did seem a bit…juvenile.

And that perhaps made them feel a bit…dated. Though no more so then when Cheryl was ranting to them about some perceived grievance with Toni when they were not paying the proper amount of attention.

She leaned back with a scoff and cast her eyes between them.

“You guys just don’t get it,” she scoffs. “It’s been too long for you. You’ve never felt the way I do.”

It slips out without Jughead particularly meaning it to. “Now, now,” he says in a tone he hopes is soothing, but not inviting of more complaining. “We were once young and in love as well.”

She scoffs. “Yes, perhaps a million years ago, Grandpa.”

* * *

It doesn’t get better from there. In fact, it gets worse. More things start getting pointed out to them, like when Betty grabs his third piece of toast out of his hand.

Archie is sitting at the island in the Cooper home and observes Jughead’s noise of protest. Betty, however, shakes her head.

“No more gluten, Jug. It bloats you, remember?”

(Even Archie bites down a laugh at that.)

Or when he tries to kiss her goodbye at Pops during exam season, and she pulls away. They had admittedly been a bit more snippy with each other than usual, and he’d heard the same complaint over and over again.

“Shave, or you’re not getting anywhere near me.”

He bites back the same response he has been saying for three days. “I am too tired to shave!”

* * *

There are certain things, even for the relationship veteran he now considers himself to be. Like, before living with his girlfriend, he wasn’t aware that there was a wrong way to fold the towels. Or that one could chew gum arrogantly. Or that not putting the spatula back was mainly an act of war.

Also, how many questions Betty asked him that were secretly rhetorical. More than once, she had asked him what he wanted for dinner. He had perceived it as an innocent, genuine question. He was incorrect.

There was, in fact, a correct answer, and he was expected to know it. He gleans that info from Betty, turning away as soon as he makes his dinner suggestion and informing him he is wrong.

They have their friends over for dinner that night. He eats a garlic roll, and Betty informs him that if he has any interest in kissing her that night, he will not eat it.

Perhaps he feels like she’s bluffing, or maybe he just does it to annoy her. It’s a mistake, and he learns that when he comes to bed and finds a blanket and pillow arranged on the floor for his convenience.

* * *

They spend a lot of time together, much more so than most high school couples. But he’s never gotten along with anyone better than he’s gotten along with Betty. That is the case almost all the time.

But then there are those times where they’re on their third day straight of leaning over their murder board, and he is apparently annoying her, but fears hazarding a guess at how.

She demonstrates for him by sucking a breath in and out. “That. You’re doing that, and it’s really annoying.”

He looks at her incredulously. “Breathing? My breathing is annoying you?”

She gives a sharp nod, and he huffs out an amazed breath. “Okay, I’ll stop,” he bites sarcastically.

She gives an approving nod. “Good. Do that.”

* * *

Looking back for both of them, perhaps moments like these were the genesis of the “married” comments, though they’re 18 and unmarried. Sometimes the married comments expand out to their friends, calling them “Grandma and Gramps” and ribbing them about mortgage investments.

It’s good-natured to a point, but when they finally get accused of being, quote, “a level of boring comparable to being 45 years old with four kids and a mortgage”, then they tend to hit back.

Betty straightens her back and glares at Archie, today’s offending comedian.

“Jughead and I have been together for 3 years. We’ve known each other for thirteen years, and we’ve moved past being recruited into mob schemes, or using sex to communicate. Also, we have single-handedly solved cases that even the police seemed to have given up on while maintaining a relationship that all you young whippersnappers are jealous of. We’re Bughead. We’re adorable.”

Jughead hums in agreement. “That’s love, bitch.”

They high five without looking, taking in their friend’s faces. Some are barely holding back laughter, Archie’s mouth has fallen open, and even FP, listening from the background, looks a little surprised.

Turning to Alice, he looks for reassurance. “Alice, I’m a good sheriff, right? You’d tell me if I wasn’t?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you recognize what show some of these are from, comment!

**Author's Note:**

> i wrote it in 30 mins read it over once and posted it because I DON'T WANT TO TALK ABOUT IT
> 
> look i spent a good hour debating how i would write in and solve the "death" plotline and then it was like I'm not fixing your shitty plotlines for free writers no way i don't support this


End file.
